


Negotiations

by rispacooper, The_Unnatural_Disaster (havent_got_a_clue)



Series: Reckless Serenade [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood, Dirty Talk, Fight Sex, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Predator/Prey, Scenting, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:23:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/rispacooper, https://archiveofourown.org/users/havent_got_a_clue/pseuds/The_Unnatural_Disaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All this time, every word, every threat, every fight, every injury...they've been <i>flirting</i>. </p><p> And now that they've settled that matter, the real war can begin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Negotiations

The wolf wants out. Something is arousing both him and the wolf...blood. _Human_ blood.  _Argent_ blood. Painting the forest drop by drop and it’s teasing the wolf, taunting him, making his claws come out and his heart race and he has to find him. He didn’t make him bleed, no.  Something he was hunting did. And now he's leaving his scent all over the forest.  
  
His forest.  
  
His forest smells like Chris and blood and the wolf won't let him be until he chases him down and tastes it.  
  
Chris is leaning against a tree, nursing his wounds as best he can in the field and Peter follows where the scent is strongest and Chris, hyperaware from the rush of pain, senses him immediately. Peter’s lip curls, fighting the wolf’s desire to see the hunter’s guts hang from the branches, the wolf fighting Peter’s arousal from the intoxicating scent of blood and sweat and adrenaline.  
  
And all Peter says, teeth bared and claws out, breath harsh in his lungs like he’s trying to contain a tidal wave, is one word that will satisfy them both. “Run.” 

  
Chris looks up at Peter, fingers scrape the bark of the pine tree, dig in hard and pieces break off that fall to the ground. He straightens up despite the pain, breathes in sharply, and gives him his answer.  
  
“No.”  
  
Chris’ heart pounds against his ribs, but he is not going to run even if he doesn’t know if Peter is trying to warn him off or order him to do it so the wolf can have some fun with him.  Peter looks down at the ground and looks back up again, eyes aglow, and growls out, "I warned you, Argent" and Chris doesn't know if it's a threat or a promise and he honestly doesn't know which one he wants more.  
  
“I’m not looking for a fight, Peter. I’m relatively unarmed. These arrows were not meant for a wolf.  And I’m not going to run so you can play out some revenge on me.”  They both know that, unarmed and injured, he doesn’t stand a chance and he has more dignity than that.  
  
If only that were all there is to it. “Revenge?” He can’t help himself. He surges forward into Chris’ space and the smell is heady and the adrenaline, the fear, everything Chris is feeling rushes at him in a cacophony of scent and sounds and the contradiction to his composed outer self is making him dizzy and stupid and he’s going to make a mistake, let something happen, and consequences be damned.  
  
“Oh, this is so not revenge, Chris. You come into my forest. Hunt. Get your blood and your scent everywhere. Did you not think about this before you let yourself get hurt? Leaving a trail for me to find, for the wolf to find. What did you think would happen out here?”  
  
“Exactly what I would want to happen, Peter.” He releases his stomach, lifts up his shirt, tosses it aside to reveal shallow, self-inflicted flesh wounds, and Peter steps back in aroused shock. He led him here. Fuck or fight, it didn’t matter. Chris wasn’t hunting for something. He was hunting for him.  
  
Peter doesn't say a word; the bewilderment that all this time, every word, every fight, every threat...they've been _flirting_. Fuck.  
  
More than just flirting, *negotiating* for how this is going to happen, how it will all go down. And God help him for that word choice, even in his own mind it heats his skin and does something to the air between them that makes him part his lips.  
  
"Something on your mind, Hale?" Cocking his head to the side because he already knows the answer and Peter wants to fuck the smirk off his face, shove into his mouth and make him cry out around his dick until he's spilling into him, gripping his hair to make him stay and take it all.  
  
Peter's mouth tightens into a thin line because the reckless shit is going to make him say it and if concession is the path of least resistance, so be it.  
  
"You. Like you didn't know. Smelling like that. I don't know what's stronger--your blood or your arousal. And right now, I want to taste both.”  
  
Peter isn't expecting how addictive just the scent of Chris is, but he needs more than sweat and musk and hormones, he needs inside, needs to taste blood and semen and deeper still. He needs to lick him open if he can't tear him open, though he might want that too, he might press into any wet, hot part of him he find or make, because even if--when--there is pain, Chris will stare at him with defiant blue eyes and know that he is still stronger for making Peter want this.  
  
"I don't want to hurt you, Chris." But Chris stares back, blue eyes alight, seeing right through him.  
  
"Yes you do, Peter." The lines are drawn, the rules are set, and Chris drops his crossbow and raises his hands; he's now completely unarmed, defenseless. _Come get me_.  
  
"Are you saying yes?" Peter inches closer to him; every step brings Chris' heartbeat in clearer focus.  
  
"Yes to what? Beating me? Fucking me? Turning me?" The drying blood pulls and stretches at the skin on his neck as he arches it...offers it, if he's being honest with himself.  
  
"Yes to anything I want to do to you, Chris." He can feel the whimper that escapes Chris as he licks at the caked on blood and it tastes like cinnamon and fire and the forest itself.  
  
Chris' chest rises and falls against Peter in harsh, broken rhythm and lips-on-neck isn't enough, damn it. They're not 15. He needs more, more, and he's going to take it from Peter, angrily grasping his jaw and yanking him up to his own mouth, and Peter takes the hint and kisses him back, rough and hot and _needy_ , backs him into a tree and the bark presses into his back, scratches through his thin shirt, but Peter won't let him feel anything but his mouth and his hands and his erection grinding into him.  
  
"I won't be nice. I won't be tender and patient. I'll make you bruise and bleed and I'll mark you and you won't be able to hide them from your hunters, from your daughter. I won't be your _lover_. We won't make love in a soft bed. I'm an animal, Chris. Gonna fuck you like one. Are you still saying yes?"  
  
"Why do you keep asking me that, _animal_?" Chris sneers the word, and pulls up Peter's shirt to push his fingers into his skin His fingernails are blunt and dull and yet the pain is sharp and hot. If he could, he would draw blood. Peter feels his cock twitch and bites Chris' lip as a reward.  
  
"Mmmm...the hunter becomes the prey. _And he likes it_. Tell me, Chris. How many times have you fantasized about this after seeing me? How many times have you had my name on your lips and come on your fingers?" The thin cotton rips so easily under his claws and Chris is flushed from the neck down.  
  
Chris is all horny and irritated. "Are you all talk, wolf? Or is this going somewhere?"  
  
"Oh, Chris." He grins. Playing with his food is so much fun. And he's getting hungry. "You have no idea where this is going, do you?" He yanks down Chris' jeans, absolutely entranced by the sharp contrast of his nudity and Peter's dress. _Predator_. "I'm not going to fuck you and run. Don't assume I'm going to let you leave so easily after this." He fists Chris' erection, pulling hard and fast and if it is anything but pleasurable, Chris isn't letting on and it just makes him want to jerk him off harder until he's screaming and raw.  
  
Chris sucks in Peter's tongue between his teeth, bites a little. Peter responds by pinning his wrists against the tree with a growl.  
  
"Just one problem there, Peter.” Chris pushes into Peter, hard, lets his mouth hang open and makes fists under his grip to look every bit the desperately aroused man he is. “Don't assume that it's going to be _you_ fucking _me_ , Peter."  
  
And the lines are now blurred to hell because as much as they were expecting a fight going into this, neither was expecting a war. And each man is going to fight dirty to win unfair and unsquare and take the other as his prize.  
  



End file.
